


Contained

by NikaylaSarae



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Blood, Claustrophobia, Darkness, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Nyctophobia, Panic, War/Battle (mentioned), death (mentioned) - Freeform, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23728321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikaylaSarae/pseuds/NikaylaSarae
Summary: You know what they say about Creativity. It’s best if it’s locked away.
Comments: 20
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted with minor edits from my Tumblr account @stillebesat.

There was no exit. He knew that. Creativity had tried so hard to find one, his fingers digging at the edges, hoping to find a crack, a gap, that would set him free from this cramped space. But in the end, all he’d been left with were bloody finger tips, worn nearly to the bone. Stuck. 

“Please.” The word barely made it to his lips before it faded away, unheard. Creativity pressed his head against the side, eyes barely open, though the darkness that encompassed him made it difficult to tell if they were actually open. Maybe he’d closed them at some point...he blinked. No, still open. Still faced with the never ending darkness. 

Please. His legs twitched, having gone numb long ago from being stuck in the same cramped position for ages. A relief really, because if his legs were numb, then they weren’t screaming at him to stretch them, to move, to run, to play. 

Creativity winced, feeling the lashes across his back from his last attempt to ‘play.’ It had been too energetic, too ‘happy.’ Too...too creative. 

He’d struggled for so long to escape the boxes his masters had put him into. He’d done so in an effort to please, to show that he could do more, be more than the boundaries surrounding him. 

It had been the wrong move. He recognized that now. The masters didn’t want loud, energetic and bright. They wanted still, quiet, and dark. They wanted him in the box. To stay within the boundaries they’d set. Boundaries that had only grown smaller each time he’d left his previous containment. 

He shivered, fresh tears running down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, his voice hoarse from screaming. Stay still. Stay quiet. Very quiet. The masters liked quiet. They liked still. Creativity could be that. He’d behave. He would behave. “Let me ou--” No. No. Out was not an option. The masters didn’t like him out. They wanted him to stay. Stay in the boundaries. 

Creativity twisted his head, brushing his eyes against a worn sleeve. “Light.” He whimpered, his burning fingers rubbing once more against the walls. Just a little light. A break from the endless dark. Anything. A small pinprick would be more than enough.

But it wasn’t his. Light wasn’t his. His was the dark. Creativity belonged in the dark. In a box. Unable to see. Left with nothing to inspire him. Only nightmares to haunt him whenever sleep found him. 

“Please.” He whimpered, shivering harder as the darkness seemed to only grow heavier around him. “I won’t leave. I’ll stay. I’ll be good.” He would stay in this darkness. He’d obey them. He’d remain in the box. Just...just make the box a little bigger. Give him a little more room to stretch out his cramped limbs. He’d stay in the larger box. He’d stay in the darkness. He would be still, if only they’d come let him stretch out. 

But he knew they weren’t coming.

The masters hadn’t come to see him in fiveever. What little imagination Creativity had had left when they’d thrown him in this tiny space...wouldn’t be enough to sustain him much longer. 

Surely the masters would come though. Surely they’d forgiven him. Surely they would once more give him a fresh idea to help them out with. 

Creativity ducked his head, arms coming up to cover it as much as he could. 

They weren’t coming. The quiet thought was only growing stronger. They weren’t coming. He’d been placed in this box to be forgotten. To never come out. This...this was where he was meant to be. This is where he’d stay. He closed his eyes, in a futile attempt to keep the tears from streaming down his face as his chest heaved in silent sobs. After all, the masters didn’t need him. Didn’t need Creativity anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

His bangs shifted on his forehead, moving in an unseen breeze. Creativity stirred, wrinkling his nose as he shakily moved a hand up to press his hair against his head to stop it from tickling him. Laughter was bad. Smiles were bad. Stillness. Quietness. Darkness. That was good. That was where he was needed. His hand slowly dropped from his hair to rest once more on his knees. Darkness. It was all he was now. Black. Cold. Darkne---

Creativity’s hair once more shifted, tickling his ear this time, sending shivers down his back. He let out the quietest of moans. Why was his hair moving against his will?! It hadn’t before now, why did it insist on torturing him like this?! Before his hair had only moved on its own when---He breath caught. When he’d been outside. 

Terror rushed through him as he jerked his head up, searching the darkness for where the movement was coming from. What could be in the box with him?! Hadn’t there only been enough room for him to curl up? He could feel it enclosing him on all sides. So why was there a breeze? What monster was going to--there. Creativity’s breath caught in his throat as he caught the slightest of movements in the never ending darkness. 

THERE WAS SOMETHING IN THE BOX WITH HIM!!!

Creativity shoved backwards, pressing against the other side away from the movement. Go away. Go away. Don’t eat him. Don’t EAT HIM. He was just a Little Creativity! He wasn’t anything worth munching on! Go! Go! WHATEVER IT WAS GO AWAY!! 

He screamed when the movement brushed against his knee, burning like a hot coal. Too warm! Too hot! Its large pointy mouth was going to eat him! HE WAS GOING TO DIE!!!

Creativity thrashed, his voice still echoing in his ears as he kicked out with legs that moved like wet noodles, desperate to get the burning monster away from him. 

The movement drew back, slithering away and out. Into the OUT. Somehow, the box had been opened. 

Creativity let out another cry, heart climbing into his throat. He wasn’t safe. The box was open. He’d get into trouble with the masters if they found it open! He’d only be placed in an even more tiny box and he hadn’t even been trying to escape!!

Whimpering, his chest heaving, Creativity lashed out, his bruised and scabbed covered fingertips fumbling along the edge where the opening was. There. A faint lip. Creativity shoved as hard as his weakened muscles could, sinking back with a cry of relief as the lid snapped shut with a click. Safe. He was safe. He was good. The masters would never know. The box wasn’t open. He was safe. He was being good. He was staying in the horrible darkness. 

Hot tears streamed down his face as his fingers felt over his knee, searching for a wound, for a bite, for skin rubbed raw. Anything to tell him why his knee still burned from the monster’s touch. 

Nothing. Creativity trembled. Nothing was there. The monster hadn’t left a mark though he could feel it! What did it mean? What did it mean! Had he been poisoned? Had the masters poisoned him? No. NO! The movement hadn’t had the masters’ feel to it. This had been something new. Something that had sought to kill him and…

Again Creativity’s hair stirred against his head and his ears caught the faint rustle of the lid being pushed back. 

“No.” His hoarse voice echoed in his ears as Creativity fumbled to shove the lid back into place. NO! He Would Not Be Eaten! 

A faint hiss of displeasure sounded as the lid caught on something before Creativity managed to slam it back into place. Good. That would teach the monster to stay out!

His fingertips drew back from the lid, only for it to once more shift over his head, the smooth edge sliding against his hands. 

“NO!” his voice cut off in its scream, his throat closing up with terror as Creativity again scrambled to keep the lid shut. He was going to get into trouble! The masters were going to put him in an even smaller box and he was going to be in even more deeper darkness and he was not going to get any more ideas from them for even longer and---his breath caught as a tiny prick of light, no larger than a grain of sand dropped from the tiny opening before the lid clicked shut on its own. 

He went still, squinting at the brightness from the tiny light, watching as it drifted to the bottom of the box like a feather. Creativity pulled his knees up against his chest, flinching as the thing hit the ground. Light. It was light. His fingers trembled, aching to reach out to it. But no. 

Creativity closed his eyes, shaking his head. No. NO. Light was bad. He was supposed to be in darkness. He was supposed to be still and quiet and….Creativity slowly cracked open his eyes, once more flinching at the tiny illumination. 

After so long in the dark. This light...it was nearly blinding. Yet, Creativity found he couldn’t look away. It was like...his mind struggled to grasp onto what it was like. Like an idea? A little spark? It had been so long since he’d last seen one. He didn’t even know if it was one. 

Creativity shook his head, looking away. No. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t from the masters, and if it wasn’t from the masters, it wasn’t an idea. It wasn’t a spark. It was something bad. Something that could harm him. And he was trapped with it. Until it went out. It had to go out. Right? Right. Light always went out. Darkness always came, and Creativity was meant to stay in the dark to please the masters. He just had to stay away from the tiny grain of illumination until it disappeared. Easy.


	3. Chapter 3

Creativity’s hand hovered a hair's breadth away from the grain of light, trembling as he fought with himself. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t touch it. But....he wanted to. 

He bit his lip, staring at it. It was light. And it was there, and it had been there shining for fiveever without going out. It wouldn’t hurt to--No! 

Creativity shook his head, body drawing back, though his hand remained as close as ever to it. He should stay away. But it was light! And he was supposed to be in darkness. But it was LIGHT and it hadn’t been chased away by the darkness and he just really wanted…

A cool prick on the tip of his finger. A zing of energy up his arm. Creativity’s eyes went wide as colors briefly swirled in his vision, colors he’d never expected to see again. “Oh.” He breathed, his finger tip stroking the pinpoint of light. Colors. That...This….this wasn’t bad.They were formless. Harmless. Colors weren’t anything the masters would get mad at so long as he just looked at them. Cautiously he picked up the grain, expecting the light to go out. But no. 

“Ooh.” The sound involuntarily left his mouth again as the colors once more spun within the illumination, filling his vision, the black surrounding him in his enclosure feeling less oppressive as he held the grain up in front of his face.

Creativity let out a shuddering breath, his tense shoulders relaxing a fraction as the light stayed steady. He rolled the illumination between finger and thumb, the cool smooth surface soothing to him as the colors he could see danced about it’s surface. The corner of his mouth twitched. Colors. COLORS. 

He hadn’t known how much he’d missed them until this moment. How could he have nearly forgotten these?! The names for them came slowly to his mind as he watched them flow out of the grain to twist about his hand. 

_Purple._ Curling like a thick vine around his thumb and down to his wrist, delicate tendrils splitting off of it and curling into small spirals.

_Blue._ Splashing through the gaps in his fingers, flowing and ebbing like the tide along the creases in his sallow skin. 

_Yellow._ Sparkling on top of each fingernail like fuzzy stars. Pulsing in time to his quickening heartbeat. 

_Green._ Pea like orbs that lazily circled from the grain of light to lightly bounce just above his hand like rocks skipping over a still pond. 

And. “Red.” Creativity whispered, his breath catching as he leaned forward to draw closer to the vibrant color as it swirled out in front of him in a fine ribbon. Red. His other hand came up to lightly cup the color as it wove around in the air. Red. His favorite. How could he have forgotten such a versatile color? The meaning of life. The heart’s delight. The signal of victory. The joy of--

A tap from above had Creativity cringing against the far side of the box, the grain of illumination hidden in his fist, held tightly against his chest, colors gone. Leaving him once more in that horrible black empty darkness. 

What had he done wrong?! His mind swirled in panic, his hand spasming, letting the light escape in shards to fall against the walls, creating creepy shadows along his enclosure that only spurred the terror in his mind. Monsters. Creativity curled up tighter, ears straining for another tapping noise as he searched the darkness above him. 

Should he have not touched the light?! WAS IT WRONG?! How were colors wrong? He’d just been looking at them. He hadn’t done anything with them! He’d just been looking. That was all. The masters couldn’t get mad at him for looking! Could they? They could. THEY WERE. They were MAD. No. No. He was going to be enclosed in a tighter space he was going to-- Creativity froze, eyes widening as another ball of light, the size of a large marble, appeared at the lip of the box, balancing there briefly before dropping to the floor with a quiet thud. 

Once more, the lid above him clicked shut. 

He stayed frozen in place. Staring at new illumination in his space, its yellow white glow spreading out like rays of half remembered sunshine. This was...Creativity lowered his hands, carefully setting the illumination grain down on the floor of his enclosure before he scooted forward, wincing as his legs protested, but ignoring it. 

Had...had he done good? Had he been right to look at the colors of the grain? Was this his reward for doing right? Because he hadn’t tried to escape? Because he just looked? Was he being good enough to receive ideas again? To help? 

But no...Creativity bit the side of his tongue as he carefully scooped up the new light into his hands. This wasn’t the master’s handiwork. He could feel the difference. The master’s lights always carried a faint sting to them, a roughness to the edges that irritated his skin. 

This marble light, a warmer color than the grain, was still cool to the touch. Smooth. Calming. And. Creativity wriggled his shoulders as his fingers pressed into the marble. Squishy! A tiny giggle escaped from him before he could stop it and he tensed, looking up at the lid, eyes wide. Still. Quiet. Shhhhhh. 

No movement. Creativity relaxed. He’d been quiet enough to not anger the creature that was outside. Good. 

His fingers moved, drawing his attention away from the lid as they pressed into the marble, squishing it from all sides. The muscles on his face protested as his lips pulled back into a rusty smile as he created basic shapes with eager fingers. Shapes he'd almost forgotten along with the colors in his quiet isolation. Pull the circle and there was an oval. Squish the sides and a rectangle replaced it. His fingers danced along the malleable surface, forming squares, triangles, and trapezoids in quick succession. 

Again Creativity wiggled, a soft bubble of laughter escaping from him, as he altered the marble, a faint zing of energy rushing up and down his spine as his mind whirled, caught up in the process of creating. Simple shapes. So easy. But. 

He leaned forward intent, pulling and prodding at the marble until one end formed a rectangle, the other end rounding out in a semicircle. He grinned, holding it up. _A Tree._ That’s what that shape combination was. Almost. He reached out blindly, grabbing the tiny grain of illumination and pushed it into the marble, massaging the surface to encourage the colors he wanted to come forth. Brown. Green. “A tree.” He whispered with quiet satisfaction. He bobbed his head happily, a quiet hum escaping from his mouth as he brushed the green of his tree with one finger, spinning the color therein to yellow, red, orange. A tree with leaves about the fall. Autumn. He shifted them back to green. Green with mini blobs of pink and red. Flowers. Blooming. Spring. 

Creativity leaned forward, his bangs falling in front of his eyes, gently swaying back and forth in the faint breeze as he played with the shape shifting marble. Absently he brushed his hair out of the way as he focused his attention on altering the shape from a simple tree, changing it again and again, his blocky houses, flowers, and animals becoming more elegant with each shift under his fumbling fingers. 

Warmth danced in his chest as he stifled another giggle. It had been far too long since he’d been able to create things like this.

“That’s pretty cool.” 

Creativity squeaked, recoiling at the unexpected voice coming from above. The monster! The marble in his hands shifted into a single orange claw in his panic. He jerked his head up, arms shaking as he held the claw protectively out in front of him. “St-st-stay away.” He stuttered, his voice raspy from disuse as he confronted the hooded figure peering down at him. 

The monster shifted its body, a blackened limb slowly moving up to push the dark hood off of its head, revealing the pale face of a young human male. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He said, his light colored eyes half hidden by--Creativity frowned.

“Purple?” He mumbled, staring at the fringe of hair. No. His eyes were deceiving him. The orange claw shifted to white to give off a purer glow. Still purple. Hair wasn’t supposed to be purple. That wasn’t a natural color. The masters had told him that time and time again. 

The light eyes, which Creativity realized were also another unnatural shade of purple flicked upwards then back down to Creativity. “My hair? Yah.” The male bared his teeth, and Creativity flinched back before he realized...it was a smile. The man was smiling at him. When was the last time his masters had smiled at him? He couldn’t remember. 

The male lowered his head, resting it on the edge of the box, his black hands, no, gloved hands resting on either side. “You want to touch it?” He asked. 

Creativity licked dry lips. Yes. But...was it a test? Was it a trick? This monst--man could be here to hurt him. But...the hair was purple and he wanted to feel it. 

“I promise, I won’t move.” The male said. “You’re safe.” 

“No...touch...me?” Creativity whispered, edging forward, one hand shakily pulling away from the clawed shape light. The masters would be mad if they found him like this. So mad. But this male had given him little sparks to play with and he hadn’t gotten mad. He’d said...he’d said it was cool. 

“Ranger’s oath, I won’t.” 

Creativity clutched the claw with his other hand, eyes going wide. A Ranger? Here? Why had the masters allowed one of the guardians to come within their walls? Were they no longer safe behind their defenses? His breathing hitched. Was it because he and the other Creativities hadn’t been good enough to continue to protect them? 

“Is...that okay?” The Ranger asked, his fingers twitching on the edge of the box. 

Creativity lowered his hand, drawing the claw tight against his chest. “Wh-where’s the masters?” Why were they allowing a Ranger to open his box? 

The light eyes darkened to a shade of purple deeper than the man’s hair. “They’re gone.” 

Creativity stiffened. Gone?! Had they left the Ranger to guard their Keep to find better Creativities? He swallowed, heart sinking. He hadn’t been good enough. But he’d been trying so hard to be still and quiet! “When will they be back?” He asked, softly. Maybe...if he was good, by the time they got back he could--

The man straightened, shaking his head. “Never.” He stated, cooly. “They’re dead.”


	4. Chapter 4

The light shattered in his hands, sending jagged sparks flying in every direction like shooting stars. _“Dead?!”_ Creativity’s voice cracked as he fell back against the side of the box, his vision blurring. 

No. No! That couldn’t be--they couldn’t be DEAD! He violently shook his head, hugging himself. “No no no nonononono.” He whimpered. It wasn’t true. it wasn’t TRUE! “You’re LYING!!” The masters would come. He just had to stay in the box. Staying in the box meant that they would come! He was a good Creativity! 

The Ranger’s eyes flashed. “Hey, hey. Don’t--” He reached down into the box.

Creativity recoiled, “GETAWAY!” He screamed, the jagged sparks swirling around him like angry bees. “MASTERS! HELP!” 

“They’re not com--” The man made a grab for Creativity’s foot. 

He screamed all the louder, tears streaming down his cheeks. “LIAR!” He kicked out with wobbly legs, gesturing with his hands to send the light fragments zinging at the man. 

The Ranger jerked backwards with a strangled yelp as the lights buzzed up and down his arms, leaving smoldering holes in his clothing. “Hey!” 

“MASTERS!! HELP!!” Creativity screamed at the top of his voice as he grabbed at lid of his box. They had to hear him. They had to come! There was a _Ranger_ here! They had to know!! “HELP!” 

The man cursed, towering over the box, eyes blazing as purple sparks danced up and down his arms to attack Creativity’s white ones. “They’re DEAD.” He yelled back, lightning crackling through the air as the purple sparks jumped from his arms striking the walls. “NO HELP IS COMING.”

The air chilled around them, the last of Creativity’s sparks snuffing out as his heart clenched in his chest, ice coursing through his veins. They...no. _“Go. AWAY.”_ He croaked out, slamming the lid shut. 

Creativity collapsed against the side of the box, curling in a ball burying his head into his knees, hiding from the darkness as he sobbed. They had to--they had to--come. The masters. They had to--they were--

_Dead._

_Dead._

_Dead._

The horrid word echoed in his head like a gong. 

He shoved his fists into his mouth to stifle his cries. He’d failed. 

_Failed._

And now they were _Dead._

_DEAD._

_dead._

Creativity had failed to protect the masters. He’d killed them. He hadn’t been good enough, quiet enough, still enough. He hadn’t learned to stay in the box in time to help when his masters had desperately needed him. They hadn’t trusted him. He’d failed. 

He dropped his hands from his mouth unable to muffle his cries further as he mourned. They weren’t coming. The masters weren’t coming. He’d screamed as loud as he could and no one had come. No one had answered. He was alone.

_Alone._

Bands of heat wrapped around him, quickly lifting Creativity up and out of the box. 

He gasped as the cold air hit him. “NO!” He screamed, thrashing in the hot touch. No! He couldn’t come into the out! The out was BAD! “LEGGO. PUT ME-- PUT ME DOWN!” 

“Shhh! Shh. Hey, I’m not--”

Creativity struggled in the Ranger’s arms, his small fists beating at the man’s chest. “GO WAY! LET GO!” He cried, fresh tears streaming down his cheeks. The out was BAD. The masters would be mad at him for coming into the ou---the masters would com--

_They were dead._

Creativity went limp, nearly falling out of the Ranger’s arms from his sudden lack of resistance, sobbing all the harder as the Ranger pulled him close, rubbing his back. “I-I wa-want the ma-ma-masters.” 

“Shh, shh. I’m sorry. I know you do. But that’s--” 

Creativity sobbed harder, shivering in the open air as he buried his head against the Ranger’s warm chest, hiccupping. “Bring ‘em b-back.” Why couldn’t they still be here? “I wa-want the masters.” 

“....I can’t do that. I’m sorry.” The Ranger whispered, running ungloved fingers through his hair. “They’re not coming back.” 

The tears only flowed faster. “B-bu-but I st-st-stayed.” He whimpered, gripping the man’s shirt. “I wa-was qu-quiet. I-i-i-” He shuddered. He’d stayed in that horrible darkness. He’d been trying to be good! Why hadn’t he been good enough? Creativity clung to the Ranger. “I di-didn’t leave th-the box! The da-dar-darkness. I-i-i wa-was try-trying to b-be-be a good Cre-crea-creativity!” Why hadn’t it been enough? The masters should have come to him for help if they were in trouble. “I co-could have hel-helped.” If only he’d learned to stay in the box sooner. They wouldn’t be GONE. 

The man stilled. _“Creativity.”_ He repeated softly with more feeling than Creativity had ever heard the masters used when referring to him. “It’s not your fault.” He said, a hesitant finger brushing the tears from his cheeks. “You should never have been placed in that box in the first place.” 

Creativity shook his head. “No!” He sniffed, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand before pushing back to look up into the Ranger’s lilac colored eyes. “I- I… was ba-ba-bad….too...too wi-wild and out-outgo-going and not--not good!”

“Those aren’t bad.” The Ranger disagreed, pursing his lips. “And that’s what helped you survive. Unpredictability is good for Creativities so I’ve been told. They thrive in that type of environment and the Curriculum--ah your masters--” His eyes darkened. “They couldn’t see it, they were killing you keeping you locked away.”

Creativity’s bottom lip trembled even as he shivered, burying his head once more against the man’s chest. He’d hated the darkness. “B-because. I-I was…ba-”

“Being you.” The Ranger took a breath, holding up his hand so Creativity could see his fingers as he pressed them against his thumb. “And you’re not bad, Creativity.” He snapped his fingers, a tiny grain of light appeared on their tips, flaring purple before it shifted to white. “I don’t think you are.” He said in a quieter tone, holding out the grain to him.

Creativity blinked, rubbing his teary eyes with one hand as he leaned forward to the illumination, his chest still shuddering as he tried to quiet his sobs. That was...that was an idea. He’d never seen one created before. The...the masters never let him see them made. They only brought them to him when they needed his help. “You made it so fast.” He whispered, reaching out only to pause just before touching it. He’d thought it took more effort. The masters had….they’d made it seem like a difficult thing. 

“It’s rather small.” The Ranger said, apologetically. “I don’t...make them often.” He shifted his shoulders. “But you can take it. It’s for you.” 

“For me?” That couldn’t be right. He looked up at the Ranger. “But...you want it back.” The masters always wanted their ideas back. He could never keep them. 

The Ranger twisted his hand, pressing the small grain into Creativity’s palm, sending a zing of soft of energy washing through him. “It’s yours to keep, Creativity. I’m sorry it’s not bigger.” 

Creativity licked his lips, his fingers squishing around the small illumination. This one wasn’t colors. It was...it was soft, warm, calming. Comfort. The spark wanted to make him feel better...the Ranger wanted to help him feel better. He sniffed, rubbing at one eye. The masters had never taken his own feelings into account when giving him ideas to work with. They just expected it to be done their way. “You...want it...bigger?” He asked, dropping his hand to rest on top of the Ranger’s before he could pull it away from the comfort spark.

The man’s eyes narrowed with confusion as he kept his hand still between Creativity’s smaller ones. “Yes?” 

Creativity nodded, taking a breath. He could do that. “Okay.” He flipped the man’s hand over, letting the spark fall back into the Ranger’s palm. “Picture it bigger, how you want it.” He said, biting his lower lip as he held his palms open to either side of the small spark. His fingers tingled as they took on a pale sheen of red. It had be fiveever since he’d done this, the color used to be more vibrant, like a rose in bloom. 

The Ranger inhaled sharply as his own fingers twitched, purple sparks rising on the tips to flow down to the one resting in his palm. “How--” He whispered. 

Creativity stuck his tongue between his teeth, hands trembling as he tried to see the concept the Ranger was wanting within the original illumination. Comfort. The main concept was comfort. But...how? 

The Ranger’s sparks swirled into the grain, growing it to the size of a marble. Was that big enough--no...it was still too small. He could see that it needed to be larger. ”How big?” He asked, eyes flickering up to the Ranger’s face. “What shape?” 

The masters would tell him exactly what they wanted to the smallest detail, but--he inhaled shakily. The masters weren’t here. It was just the Ranger. He blinked tears back. Focus, Creativity! 

“What size do you need it to be?” The Ranger asked slowly, eyes intent on his. “This spark is for you.” 

Creativity shook his head. That wasn’t how it worked. “No, you tell me. The--the ma-” He gritted his teeth, dropping his head, staring at his faintly glowing hands. He sniffed. “The masters guide me. I follow their rules.” He whispered, blinking back tears. “Guide me.” The Ranger would want it to be perfect. Just like the...the masters expected perfection. 

“I’m not your mas--” The man cut off, exhaling as Creativity flinched. “Sorry.” He held Creativity closer, rocking him back and forth. “...Alright. Uhmm…”

Creativity hunched his shoulders. The man kept apologizing, but it was Creativity who was making the mistakes. The Ranger was...differenter than...than...the masters. “You wanted bigger?” He asked, cautiously resting his hands on the man’s as he glanced up.

The Ranger’s hand spasmed as tiny beads of red left Creativity’s smaller fingers to race up the man’s palm to the marble sized light. Normally he didn’t need physical contact, but...this was more difficult than he remembered. 

The man huffed, blowing his colored hair out of his eyes, glancing to Creativity with a small frown. “Yah. Yah, uh...Brick sized?” 

Finally. A Size. Something big enough to hold against his chest if Creativity was reading the man’s intention right. Creativity leaned forward, pulling at the shape, drawing more of the man’s purple sparks to swell the illumination to the correct dimensions. He wiped his brow against his shoulder, trying to get rid of the sweat beading on his forehead. It...it shouldn’t be this hard. “C-color?”

“It can stay white.” 

So certain. Creativity looked up at the man pursing his lips, blinking the spots from his eyes. “White?” 

The man was looking at him with a calculating gaze. Just like the Mas--masters did when judging his creations. “Yes.” 

He groaned. “That’s boring!” The Ranger had provided him with a colorspark earlier and now he just wanted white? How dull. 

“And it’s easy.” 

Creativity scoffed. “Easy?!” 

_“Creativity.”_

He flinched at the tone in the man’s voice. A cross between exasperated and angry. Just like...just like… He jerked his hands away from the light letting the red glow fade from them as he pressed them against his chest. Oh no. _“I’m sorry.”_ He whimpered. He’d been taking control again and that was bad. The masters never liked it. They put him in the box. They-- “I won’t, I’ll be good, I do-don’t want the box again!” Not the horrible darkness. But he’d been bad, he’d messed up first chance! The ma-masters wa-wanted hi-him to follow… He buried his head against the man’s chest trying to stifle his sobs as fresh tears streaming down his cheeks. 

He closed his eyes in a fruitless attempt to keep the water at bay. This was why his masters were _dead!_ Because he couldn’t follow instructions. Because he’d been in the box. Because he hadn’t learned! He was--

“Creativity.” The man’s voice was softer as the brick sized light pressed against his chest. Soft, squishy. 

Creativity found himself instinctively grabbing onto it. Holding it tight as he pressed his face into the soft texture as it shifted to fluff under his cheek. Like holding a soft bunny.

“I’m not putting you back in that box.” 

“You are.” Creativity mumbled into the illumination. Sooner or later he always went back into the box. The red glow flowed back onto his hands helping to mold the shape as he squeezed it, changing its shape so it was more huggable as he struggled to breathe. He didn’t want to go back in the box!

Fingers carded through his hair. “No. No, I’m not. I’m just worried. You...haven’t created in a while right? The Curriculum...they haven’t taken you out recently.” 

Creativity nodded, breath hitching as he opened his eyes. “Cus I was bad.” 

The hand paused in his hair. “What? No. Because they were fools to lock you away, and I’m not doing that.” He ducked his head down to Creativity’s level, trying to make eye contact.

Creativity swallowed, forcing himself to not look away. 

The Ranger offered him a small smile. “I know you can do things Creativity...but you...you need to regain your strength first. You’re skin and bones and I don’t want you…” 

He’d heard this before. A hundred zillion times. “Creating without supervision or else into the box.” Creativity repeated dully, frowning down at his hands, the red glow once again gone. They were rather...skeletal. He shivered. He’d known the masters hadn’t come for a long time, but this….he squeezed the fluffy ball of soft brownness, feeling the warm comfort rush up his arms. He didn’t want to go back into the darkness. 

The Ranger exhaled. “What were they teaching you here?” He asked, brushing Creativity’s cheek. “I want you to be safe, healthy, at full strength. That’s what I want.” He continued without waiting for an answer. His hand pressed against the ball of fluff, a soft glow coming to his hands as more violet ideasparks flowed into the stuffed rabbit now resting in Creativity’s arms. “No matter what you do, Creativity, you’re not going back into that box, or any box ever again, alright?” He jerked his head to the far side of the room. “I’ll prove it to you. Here.” 

He shifted Creativity in his arms, careful to keep one pulsing hand on the rabbit as he spun on his heel, and walked them quickly through the dank space, weaving through the maze of free standing shelves filled to the brim with dusty boxes.

Creativity tensed, hugging the plush tightly, feeling the ideasparks sinking into the glowing rabbit. More comfort, the Ranger was still working to reassure him. “You’re not--I’m not?” He asked in disbelief, sitting up straighter in the man’s arms, eyes darting as the Ranger took them up a spiraling, rubble strewn staircase. Away from the boxes. Away from the darkness. He was serious? The Ranger wasn’t putting him back?

He frowned, barely recognizing the place as they reached the top, entering into hallway outside the courtyard...at least he thought it was the spot where he and the other Creativities had played while waiting for the masters to come for them. It was hard to tell with only one wall left standing in the open space, the others having caved inward to form a blackened mound of rubble. 

“You’re not.” The Ranger confirmed, holding Creativity closer as he picked his way through the debris, heading for the far doors that would lead out of the Keep proper. “Not on my watch.” He glanced down to Creativity, mouth twitching in a partial smile. “I think your creations are cool.” He said, pushing through the broken door and out into the sun. “They shouldn’t be hidden away or locked up.” 

The tension in Creativity’s muscles relaxed as the first rays of sunlight fell onto his skin. Oh. Oooh. He shivered, goosebumps appearing on his skin as he held out a hand to the sky, lifting his head up to the sun, eyes closing. So warm. So bright. A smile tugged at his lips as he wiggled in the Ranger’s arms, a soft bubble of laughter escaping him. This. Was. AMAZING!

“Feel good?” 

Creativity breathed deep, opening his eyes as he glanced about. So much sun! Light! He could barely see any shadows. This. He’d forgotten what it felt like to be fully outside. “Mhmm!” He agreed happily, twisting in the ranger’s arms to get more of himself facing the light. It was so warm!

The tension around the Ranger’s eyes vanished. “I’m glad.” He said with a smile, brushing the stuffed rabbit’s fur with his fingers.

Creativity offered a hesitant smile to the man in return as he cautiously reached out to touch his purple hair, feeling the color there. Not natural. It was...placed there. Why would he place-- 

“So….the…” He bit his lip, chills running down his back. Maybe he should wait to ask more about the hair. The Masters hadn’t liked questions...but this man...was different. “Is the rabbit cool?” He asked instead, watching the sunlight flash off the man’s purple streaks as he squeezed the rabbit tight. The masters were never so free with compliments on his work. They only ever critiqued him. 

“The rabbit?” The man tilted his head, flicking his eyes up to his hair then back down to the rabbit in question.

Creativity nodded, hunching his shoulders. The man didn’t sound mad. Didn’t seem to mind him touching his hair. A light red glow covered his hand as he pulled it back from the Ranger’s hair, his fingers coming away tinged the same shade of purple. “Is it...good? You like it?” He hesitated for a second before he ran his colored hand through his own hair, leaving the purple there and his hand clean. Just like the Ranger. He looked up, curious to see the reaction. 

The man blinked, mouth partially falling open before he snapped it shut, shaking his head he let out a soft laugh that had Creativity smiling with more confidence. 

That had to be a good sign. Right? 

The Ranger reached out, ruffling Creativity’s hair, sending a vibrant wave of fuzzy warmth coursing through him as he answered without hesitation. “Yes. Yes, I do.”


	5. Epilogue

Patton paced around the old campsite, his thumb running up and down the smooth polished wood of his bow as he glanced up to the blot of darkness on the mountainside. “Come on, Virgil.” He muttered, reaching back to feel the feathers of his arrows. “What’s taking you so long?” 

The others had returned from the Curriculum’s eyesore of a Keep and moved on to the next strike point days ago. Yet, Virgil still hadn’t emerged. 

He glowered at the large structure. If it wasn’t for the fact that Virgil wouldn’t hesitate to expel Patton from the Keep in one of his magical defensive shield ball things, Patton would have dragged the Ranger out by the ear three and a half days ago. 

He huffed, again checking the string on his bow. The others had said that they’d left no one alive within. They’d said that Virgil was doing one last check and would be out shortly. Well no check ever took FOUR FREAKING DAYS! 

Patton shook his head, exhaling. Shortly. Ha. He shouldn’t be surprised. He shouldn’t. But Virgil had to know he was waiting nearby. He would have signaled him with an Emoter’s Flare if he needed help.

Of course...the fool never ever considered that he might need help. Nooo~, Virgil would take on an entire legion without ever once calling for the others. 

Patton glared back up at the Keep as he completed another circuit of the camp. Virgil had to have searched the place a hundred times by now! Just because it had been one of the larger strongholds for the Curriculum didn’t mean that the Ranger needed to check the towering monstrosity more than four times. Four times had been good enough for all the other places they’d defeated. What could be keeping him--

A snap of a branch from behind had Patton whirling, arrow already knocked and drawn, the tip gleaming in a sheen of sky blue motes as he aimed it towards the sound.

His bow lowered just quickly as a familiar starburst of purple flashed through the trees. “Virgil!” Finally. He stepped forward, dispelling the sheen from his arrow, slipping it back into his quiver as the Ranger rippled into view carefully picking his way through the underbrush to their campsite. “ABOUT TI--” 

Virgil made a face, shushing him with a sharp gesture as he approached.

Patton tensed, bow at the ready as he glanced around. The area had been secured before the others left, but Virgil often sensed threats that the others couldn’t. “About time.” He whispered, eyeing him with some concern, noting how the Ranger had both hands hidden under his unusually bulky cloak.

Patton clicked his tongue. “What took you?” And why was he carrying something when it looked small enough to sling over his back? What had Virgil found that warranted him forgoing his usual habit of keeping his hands free? 

Virgil stepped cautiously into the campsite, glancing around as he approached Patton. “The others?” He asked, ignoring his question.

Patton rolled his eyes. What? Did he expect them to wait for him? “Gone four days ago as planned.” Hopefully Virgil caught that. _Four Freaking Days._

“You’re alone?” 

Patton frowned, fingering the string of his bow, testing its tautness. The Ranger was giving off his caution motes again. Others would call it paranoia, but he’d known Virgil long enough to tell the difference. “Of course.” 

Virgil exhaled, tense shoulders relaxing as he adjusted the lump hidden from view. The caution motes swirled and shifted, brightening like the sun as he looked up. “Pat.” He said, fighting a smile, his eyes the lightest shade of purple that Patton had ever seen. Those lilac colored eyes were practically dancing, pulsing like a beacon of pure sunshine to Patton’s sight. 

He couldn’t help but smile himself, his heart jumping in his chest at the happy motes spilling from the   
Ranger. Virgil _never_ emoted such strong positivity. What had happened within the Keep to-- 

“I found your Hope.” 

Patton blinked. Hope? That wasn’t what he expected Virgil to say. He raised an eyebrow, slinging his bow over his back. “In the Keep?” He asked skeptically. That seemed like an oxymoron. “With the Currics? What hope could they have hiding in ther--” 

He cut off with a gasp as Virgil pulled back his cloak, revealing a young boy sleeping in his arms. A boy with dusty rainbow colored hair faintly glowing under the sun. 

“A _Creativity.”_ He breathed, his heart taking off like a hummingbird’s wings. That was a CREATIVITY!!! 

He lurched forward, blinking rapidly as he grabbed Virgil’s arm, his chest swelling with both his and Virgil’s excitement. He’d told Virgil they still existed! He’d never stopped believing they were out there! To think that the Curriculum, off all Sects, had one hidden---

The boy shivered in the open air, his face scrunching up as he curled further into Virgil’s chest, a faintly glowing stuffed rabbit held tightly in his arms. 

Virgil grinned without reserve, lightly brushing the boy’s cheek, faint purpled droplets coming to his fingertips, soothing the child back to sleep. “Once again you’ve proved me wrong.” He said, pulling the cloak so that the boy’s skeletal body was covered once more.

Patton smirked. He did that quite often. Virgil shouldn't be surprised anymore. He reached out a hand, his heart skipping a beat as he brushed the boy’s sunken cheek.   
This wasn’t a dream illusion, the boy was actually here. “I can’t believe it!” He whispered. “A Creativity...with the Currics?” No wonder the child was so frail. With how rigid the Curriculum’s regime was...the boy could hardly have been expected to thrive.

The Ranger shook his head. “I know, I was surprised as you were.” 

“Virge. This!” Patton barely stopped himself from laughing out loud and waking the boy. “This could change every--” 

He cut off, eyes widening as his sky blue motes unexpectedly rose up to his fingertips, shifting to the pale pink shade that Patton often used when emoting love. They quickly flowed along the boy's face, bringing a sunkissed glow to his pale cheeks. 

“How?” He whispered, watching his motes flit about. No one should be able to emote his own emotions but him! Not even another Emoter and the boy definitely wasn’t one of his sect. 

Virgil shifted, moving to sit on a fallen log by the firepit, cradling the young Creativity in his arms. “I don’t know.” He admitted. “I think...I think he can sense our ideas or wants and...create them...using our abilities or his own.” His eyes darkened, emoting smokey grey frustration as Patton sat down next to him. “Mostly ours for now. The boy--” A shudder ran through him and he dropped his head, his emotions washing into midnight blue. “I nearly didn’t find him in time, Pat." He whispered, clutching the child close. “I’d gone through so many boxes.” 

Patton twitched, pulling his hand away from the boy as his own motes flared with Virgil’s distress. “Boxes?” 

Virgil bared his teeth a soft growl emanating from his throat as he hunched over the young Creativity.

Patton’s heart stuttered in his chest. That wasn’t a good sound from the Ranger. That wasn’t good at all. He wrapped his arm around the Ranger. “Virge?” He asked, giving him a comforting squeeze, fighting to not yet use his motes to soothe him.

Virgil leaned into his touch, a vivid purple shield rippling to life around the three of them, hiding them from view. 

Patton bit his lip. Oh, it was definitely very very very bad if it triggered the Ranger’s defenses like this. He swallowed, bracing himself as he took a calming breath. “Virge…” He allowed his motes to surface, their blue color shifting to vibrant red mixed with pink to encourage Virgil’s confidence, to let him feel his love as he tried to soothe the storm he felt boiling within the Ranger. “What did you find there?” 

The Ranger licked his lips, refusing to look up. “I--” He shuddered. “I found a secret room just before we were to leave.” He said, brushing the boy’s cheek. A self soothing gesture, judging by the lack of droplets this time. “It was so covered with ivy that I nearly decided it wasn't worth checking.”

Patton hummed, adding in soft yellow motes of understanding. “But you did.” Virgil wouldn’t have been able to rest easy if there was even a sliver of a chance that someone was hiding behind it. 

Virgil jerked his head in a nod, shoulders tensing. “There was a staircase within. And at the bottom I found a room stacked to the brim with dusty boxes. Shelves upon shelves of them piled high just like the wine cellars back home.” 

He frowned. Under the Keep? That location didn’t make sense. His motes swirled around them. “But Creativities need warmth. They need light. They need space--”

“Mmmm” Virgil flicked his eyes to Patton, a hint of a smile on his lips. “So you told me a thousand times. But I didn’t expect to find one down there remember?”

True. Patton took Creativity’s tiny hand as he quietly added in orange to the motes around Virge to encourage him to continue his story; watching as more of his motes, these ones remaining his neutral blue, appeared like raindrops to play along the boy’s skin. “You thought they were extinct.” He whispered, smiling despite himself as the boy sighed in his sleep, nuzzling against Virgil, squeezing the stuffed bunny in his arms.

“I did.” Virgil agreed, leaning into Patton, as he cradled the boy protectively.

Patton tilted is head, resting it against Virgil’s. “And you found him down there?” 

Virgil shifted, his breath hitching. “Not--not quite. I...I could sense that I was needed in the room. But there was no one there.” The protective shield flashed around them as Virgil’s emotes went pitch black. “Until I looked in the first box.” He whispered, rust colored horror cascading through him and into Patton.

Patton tensed, inhaling sharply as his eyes filled with tears, his body growing cold as he fought to block those particular motes from him. Oh, Crofters. Please no. _Please no!_ Please say that they were all empty. Please. Don't say that this Creativity was--

Virgil reluctantly looked up, his eyes a purple so dark they barely reflected the sun as anger flared bright and hot to Patton’s senses. “The Currics were keeping all their Creativities locked up small boxes, Pat.” He whispered, the purple shield pulsing around them. “Every. Single. Box. In that room. Had one. Squeezed in so tight that they could barely move and...and--” Virgil inhaled shakily, the anger within flashing to deep sorrow in the blink of an eye as he brushed the boy’s faded multicolored hair.

“No.” NO!! Patton shook his head, fighting against his Emoter instincts as grief overwhelmed him. 

“He was the only survivor.” 

Hundreds of Creativities within the Curriculum’s Keep and this boy was the only one to survive?! He jerked backwards to prevent his emoting from falling onto the boy as tears streamed down Patton’s cheeks in a tidal wave of shimmering sky blue motes. “You’re--you’re--” He choked out, trying to breathe with lungs weighed down with lead.

Virgil sighed, running his fingers through the boy’s rainbow hair as he leaned into Patton, allowing his motes to encompass him. “I’m sure.” 

Patton’s hand shot to his mouth, biting down hard on his knuckles to stop himself from wailing and waking the boy. 

All this time. The long lost Creativities had been held within this Keep and they hadn’t--

A warm hand gripped onto his. “I know.” Virgil whispered, his own cheeks streaked with tears. “I know, Pat.” 

Patton shook his head, dropping his hand from his mouth only when he was more confident in his speaking ability to cling to Virgil. It felt like a lifetime before he could pull his motes back, to calm his Emoter’s instinct. He inhaled shakily as he reached out brushing the boy’s hair from his eyes. “This whole time.” He croaked out. 

If Virgil hadn’t found that door. If he hadn’t felt the child’s need… All Creativity could have very well been lost to their world. Just like--

A chill ran down his spine. Just like all Logic had been lost when the Curriculum first rose to power centuries ago. 

He shuddered, taking a breath. It wasn’t something he wanted to think about. He didn’t want to think about how they’d almost had history repeat itself...could still have history repeat itself. It was unbearable. He couldn’t let it happen. Not with Creativity. “You think he’s the last?” He asked, blinking the tears from his eyes. 

Virgil exhaled. “Knowing the Currics...he very well could be. But Pat.” He squeezed his hand, glancing at him. “We could still lose him.” He bit his lip, adjusting his cloak around the boy. “He’s so weak. I honestly thought he was dead until he freaked out when I touched him.”

Patton’s motes flared, burning gold around him as he set his jaw. No. 

Death was not an option.

He abruptly straightened. “We’re not going to let that happen.” He looked up, meeting Virgil’s eyes, glad to see the Ranger’s droplets flare in response to his own as he held out his hand over the boy. “He’ll survive. He’ll thrive. We won’t lose him.” 

Not when he could very well be the last. Not when he could be the one to finally shift the war to their favor and overthrow the Curriculum’s stranglehold in their lives. 

His hand shimmered with blue motes. “Deal?” 

Virgil’s eyes glinted as he laid his hand on top of Patton’s. “Deal.” He agreed, his purple droplets mixing with Patton’s to fall onto the young Creativity, sealing their promise to him. 

Patton grinned, brushing away his tears as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the boy’s forehead. In this. They wouldn’t fail.


End file.
